With Liseux’s report of Papal favor, he sent forth his recruiters again , armed with a two-pronged promise. The Pope had declared the invasion of England a holy war. The evil of the English Church must be excised. Any man engaged in such a conflict would be absolved of all sin and sit on the right hand of God. They would follow the Papal Banner and the ring of Saint Peter. It was excuse enough for knights of chivalry who had been confined by the Truce of God. A holy war with a licence to kill couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time.

Robert de Mortain appealed to Sir Richard, “ How many knights have enlisted since the Papal Bull, Richard?”

“Nearly a hundred, Count Robert.”

“A hundred!! We need thousands!”

“Yes, Sir. To get them the Duke will have to sweeten the offer.”

“What do they want?”

“Someone has spread the word that the Saxons are as poor as church mice and the women all have beards.”

“Jesus Christ!’

“No, they think Christ is on our side.”

“This is no comic matter, Richard.”

“Pardonnez-moi but I couldn’t resist. These men want to realize a tangible asset—gold, plunder, or land and they think gold and plunder will be minimal.”

“All right, I’ll talk to the Duke, but he’s not going to like it.”

“My Brother, comment ca va?”

“Bien, My Lord, bien.”

“What is your trouble, Robert? Your look desolate.”

“My Lord, I just talked to Sir Richard and have the enlistment figures since we received the edict of the Pope.”

“So?”

“They are grim, My Lord—less than a hundred knights.”

“Sacre bleu! What do they want?”

“They want guaranteed gold, My Lord—or land.”

“Greed! These misanthropes are driven by greed. They are expressing mistrust. The land will be mine. Not one sou are they worth!” William of Normandy was about to start on one of his infamous rants.

“My Lord William?”

“Yes, Osbern!”

“It appears we will have to buy them somehow. Which would be easier on our depleted treasury-gold? Or land? If land will hold their allegiance, we’ll have to give it to them. Knights do not own land anyway as they farm it in the name of the king. They farm it and we collect the taxes. We’ll take an exacting census at land dispersal, even more precise than Maine Provence. They may cheat the church of tithes, but never cheat the king on taxes.”

“Yes, that sounds reasonable Count William. However, I have never trusted mercenaries. They do not follow orders, they are not dedicated, they lack style and class, and they can’t be trusted.”

“I agree, My Lord, but one hundred knights more will not turn the battle and defeat Harold.”

“C’est bien! Leak the word! Bring me your landless! Marde!”

Enlistments jumped immediately. Knights, archers, and infantry saw the greener grass on the other side of the Channel. Knights rode in from France, Germany , Italy and the surrounding provinces. Bretons came in droves, partly because of their proximity and partly because Conan, the poisoned duke, had held his men as poverty-stricken landless wretches.

Thomas, William, Richard and Jean now face a flood of inductees. Will, the winsome blade, generally escaped such exercises as he was sent on treks and tours of foreign lands. Not this time! Now he wondered why he had ever listened to the brothers as a child as he was forced to exercise his mathematical and literary skills. Thomas was used to it as he and Jean had shouldered the armory load before. Sir Richard fussed and fumed and cursed his lot for dealing with all these foreigners. “ My God, some of them don’t even speak French!” Arms were not a problem since these men came to fight. Horses were not a problem as knights expected to battle from their own charger. Food was a problem. The mercenaries carried enough food to reach Rouen for enlistment. Now who would feed them? Hay and stabling was a problem. Horses had to be pastured or fed cured hay. Who had the stores to support a herd of giant chargers? Lodging was a problem. The inductees claimed the right to a dry if not clean bed. The Trivetts, Richard, Jean and even Richard’s son John were hard pressed to accommodate their growing army. The Norman knights and infantry remained at home, slept in their own beds, ate their own food, tended their own horses. Newcomers had to be billeted. Where could they be kept? Richard had the final decision. This was not his idea of war. He was a trained antagonist, a master swordsman, an accomplished lancer, but an illiterate. Jean was largely self taught and the Trivett boys became the scribes. Young John, as page, was the errand boy.

Sir Richard stewed, “Why do I get all the nasty jobs, Nom de chien! This bloody hand so suited to the crusader, this arm so powerful with the lance, these legs so accustom to the four-legged charger’s saddle and what do they do? The hand wields une plume and is stained with ink not blood. The arm passes the lance to others. The legs ride a four-legged chair behind a four-legged desk. Sacre Bleu!” and he charged about their little room scattering chairs and papers before him. Jean smiled and shook his head, Thomas cringed and shrugged his shoulders, Will laughed aloud and John tried to avoid his father’s rampage and pick up papers. Actually, Richard’s day was spent in bewailing. However, he did make final decisions.

“Pardonnez-moi, Sir Richard, we have sent ten to Liseux. The count is already complaining. Where do you want this batch to go?”

“Mon Dieu! William, send them to hell! Ah! Send them to Elbeuf. He has plenty of room in that pile of stone he calls a castle.”

“C’est bien.”

“Warn those scurvy rats we’ll have none of their marde du beouf behaviour in Normandy. Leave the peasants and church alone. They are here to annihilate the English not Normans.”

“Mais oui!”

“Sir Richard, this man complains that his troops are being poorly fed in Caen.”

“Where is he from?”

“Bordeaux.”

“How would he know? He likely grew up on rat meat and new wine! Bloody complaints are endless! I’m going to be a peasant and milk cows. I’ll only leave the land to fight! John, run to stores and tell the quartermaster to send enough food for 10 men for one week. Will, prepare a note instructing that money-grubbing count to improve the diet for these men or he will answer to Duke William. Does he expect us to fight with skeletons! I’ll sign it.”

“Certainment.” And so, their days went.

Thomas was naturally anxious about Jo-Anne. He hurried through his chores and made his way to his grant of land of stumps at every chance he got. Jo-Anne and his mother Mary were never idle. There was always something new for Thomas to discover. There were new curtains for the windows. Large boxes had been turned into a storage cabinet. New vegetables were evident from the garden. The two women were seldom idle. Mary taught Jo-Anne how to knit and baby’s layette was growing—sweaters, booties, bonnets were piling up. Knit one; purl two and the soul-mates were finished. Blankets and shawls magically appeared. Thomas thought they had enough clothing and bedding for triplets. He

had to see each item and pass judgment. He was wise enough, or enough in love, to avoid a negative comment.

He thought his two loves were physically stressing themselves with garden and cow and horses. His mother assured him that exercise was a necessity for good prenatal health. Most women worked until labor pains had forced her to her bed. Thomas Senior had worried about Mary also. She had never lost a child in her deliveries.

Mary taught Jo-Anne all her cooking tricks, and recipes that were certain to please Thomas. In turn Jo-Anne taught Mary how to cook on her advanced fireplace. Mary was impressed, Jo-Anne was impressed and Thomas was impressed. What a delight for Thomas to escape the garrison mess. It was the difference between a breakfast of gruel and fat pork belly and porridge with fresh cream, bacon and eggs, toast and homemade jam. It didn’t take much coaxing to have Will as a visitor then. Often with his archery skill he would provide small game to add to their table menu. He was particularly fond of Mary’s rabbit stew.

It was a happy gathering and often supplemented with Richard of Rouens young brood. They came to see their matron sister and gladly stayed for dinner. Will delighted the children with games and tricks, mock battles[which he lost] and elaborate stories of knights and ladies or dragon extermination or taming. All the ships he sailed in, had a tame dragon on the prow. The children laughed and squealed and

clapped in their bestirred imagination.

Nevertheless, Jo-Anne worried. Her baby was much alive and she had Thomas feel her distended abdomen when ‘he’ kicked. Thomas was awe-struck and so tender. A miracle they had created. Jo-Anne hid her anxiety from Thomas. Even though it was her first pregnancy she had the feeling that all was not well. She had been spotting blood from time to time which alarmed her. Mary had noticed her unease and tried to allay the young woman’s fears. They appealed to the Creator and the Mother of God. If anyone could help, it should be Mary’s namesake. Jo-Anne, Mary, Eve, Juno, Hera, and Ghea made a direct line to the universal mother formed by God himself. Surely, all the gods of God and Mother Earth would see to Jo-Anne’s well-being.

Mary, the clairvoyant, was not so certain. She had a vision of the near future and dark angry clouds surrounded her son. Did it include her daughter-in-law and future grandchild? Was it Thomas away at war? Thomas was storm tossed by an angry sea while Jo-Anne and child called and beckoned from a luminous shore. This was not the sort of message she got when the boys were returning home. There was nothing she could do about their visit and there was nothing she could do about Thomas taking sail. What were the spirits telling her? She cast the bones again and again and read the resulting throw. It was always the same. She appealed to her dead husband and sometimes felt transported to a shining garden. She rested her head on Thomas’ shoulder and knowledge passed from spirit to his entranced wife. When she awoke, Thomas Senior was gone, but the gloom and despair hung over her.